


Prouvaire's Perscription

by speightdaysaweek



Series: Grantaire as an accidental poet verse [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: I might write a bit more if i get some more ideas, M/M, Poetry, Unrequited Love, drinking to repress emotions, references to alcoholism, undeserved mistreatment and unappreciation of Jehan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-02
Updated: 2013-06-09
Packaged: 2017-12-10 05:43:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/782465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/speightdaysaweek/pseuds/speightdaysaweek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jehan suggests Grantaire stops ignoring his emotions, and suggests he do so through the medium of poetry</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Taire, I love you.”

“Jehan! Well, I’m flattered! I never-“

“Shut up, you fool. I’m helping you.”

“What makes you think I need-“

Jehan raised his eyebrows.

“WELL FINE.” Said Grantaire. “Go on, oh wise Jehan, poet extroadinarie- How do you propose to /help/ me?”

“I cannot help you. /You/ have to help you.”

“Well what the hell does-“

“Why do you drink, ‘taire?”

Grantaire was silent for a moment. He settled for not answering. “I do not need your help, Jehan.”

“I see everything, Taire. I’m not a physicist or a genius or a philosopher or a spy, but I write, and it is my job to notice. I know you love Enjolras, and I know he is a blinkered fool who cannot see what lies before him. I know you drink more and more, and I know you drink more especially after he has berated you- I personally think he doesn’t know what he says, I don’t think he means to-“

Grantaire had a headache. He rather wanted to be left alone a while.“What do you want, Jehan?”

“From you? To me? I would like you to do me a favour. Will you do something for me, dearest Grantaire?”

There was a pause. But in the end Grantaire’s reason won out. Jehan was annoying, but he was a good man, and an even better friend. “Name it.”

“I want you to write me a poem.”

“I am no poet, Jehan.”

“You aren’t actually writing it for me, I don’t want to see it. This is for you. I want you to feel what you feel. Don’t repress it with your alcohol and by kidding yourself the way you do. Be true, Grantaire. Not for anyone else. For you.”

With this, Jehan clasped a hand to the drunkards shoulder, kissed him on the cheek, bid him goodbye, and left.

Grantaire closed his eyes and tried with all his might to feel what he felt. He found it more difficult than expected.

Enjolras was annoying. And too driven and too angry and too empathetic about these people he doesn’t even know and shouldn’t even care about. He wants to change the world and he wants that more than anything- more than he could ever want anything else ever in the whole world.

Even if he could like Grantaire, Even if Grantaire was sober and helpful and logical-Grantaire would not be what he wanted. Grantaire just had to live with the knowledge that he could never be enough for his Apollo. He could never be France.

And so Grantaire, the man who drinks so that he doesn’t have to think, let himself feel. He sat, dipped his pen into the ink bottle, pressed the tip to the back of some of Enjolras’ propaganda and began to write:

“Sometimes I blame the Gods  
For the things I cannot change  
If I had a choice, perhaps my fate would be arranged  
In a different way.

Perhaps then you’d stay  
the night  
perhaps you would tell me  
it’s alright  
“Grantaire  
I’m there  
for you  
Right here  
I’ve got you”

A man can dream.  
Or maybe I just wouldn’t pine  
the way I do  
for you

A man can dream, Apollo.  
A man can dream of a world in which  
his only dream isn’t  
you.

only you.

For I am stuck here on this Earth  
I’m youre Grantaire  
and youre not there.

So I despair.”


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jehan wont shut up.  
> 'Taire writes some more

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unbetad!  
> also I thought this was over but apparently not. I might add another chapter, I might not. we just don't know. (im having fun with it though)

The next day at around 10, Grantaire was sitting alone at a long table at the cafe when Jehan slid across it to gaze at Grantaire, much too much in his personal space for Grantaire's hangover-fuelled sudden temperament to bear. 

"So?" Asked Jehan excitedly. Christ he was like a pansy puppy. 'Go away, Jehan.' He wanted to say, 'I am in pain. You are a pain. Leave me in peace.'

What he actually so eloquently articulated was "What?" God, Was his voice always that deep? Add 'sore throat' to the list of ailments.

"Did you?" Jehan's grin was painful to look at. Didn't it hurt his face? It was hurting Grantaire's face. Why would somebody else's grin hurt his face? Maybe Grantaire's face was just hurting? But why did Grantaire's face hurt? God, It was too early for this internal face-hurt debate.

"Don't test me, Jehan. I am very antisocial today. Did I what?"

"Oh." Jehan looked a little disappointed. Like a puppy that just got kicked. If anyone was a puppy and if a puppy was anyone, it was Jehan the Poet. Puppy Poet. Grantaire made a note to call him "puppy poet" henceforth. "Perhaps you have forgotten?"

"Forgotten WHAT, exactly?"

"Last night I told you to write a poem? No matter, you have probably forgotten. Here, let me get you a large glass of water, we can drown the headache until it peacefully perishes amongst the waves."

Prouvaire went to the bar while the memory of last night came back to him. Shit, he did write a poem. Where did he put it? What did it say? It was safe to assume that it was embarrassing, and, of course, that nobody could ever read it. Where did he write it? It was here wasn't it?

He fought the headache and tried to think. He was drinking whilst he was writing, and Provaire was there, but it was late, and there was a poster! yes! He wrote it on the back of a poster. Shit it was here.

Grantaire had to find that sodding shitty poem.

He moved upstairs. He didn't run, but he walked very fast. like a man on a mission, but a man in pain on a mission. A hungover man in pain on a mission. Fuck his head hurt. Enjolras' propaganda wasn't there.

Shit. Shit shit double shit. Shit fuck shit.

"JEHAN!"

He descended the stairs and found himself face to face with the poet with fresh pink and white flowers in his hair. When did he put flowers in his hair? where they there before?

"...you called me?" Jehan thrust the glass of water at him, Grantaire accepted and drank half of it down immediately. Thank you, Jehan. I love you, Jehan.

"Did you want something?" Jehan prompts

"Yes! Yes I do. When did you put flowers in your hair?"

Jehan looked confused. "You called me from upstairs to ask me when I put flowers in my hair?"

"No! No! Why did I call you from upstairs? oh. shit." He grimaced as he remembered. fuck. fuck fuck. "Prouvaire youre an idiot and I hate you."

Jehan tilted his head and became confused-puppy-poet, but then his head returned upright, and his gaze became stony. Grantaire remembered too late that the long-haired poet who loved flowers and wrote of love was a dangerous man to cross. "Grantaire." He said sternly, "You are very much a mystery to me. In future I will remember not to fetch you water to cure your self-inflicted ailment, since it only causes you to hate me."

"no no! not that! Im sorry I didn't mean that I hate you, but I do, but I don't mean that I do."

He was met with a blank stare.

"you told me to write a poem."

"yes..."

"I wrote a poem."

"Oh!" Jehan broke into a smile. "Well then, this is good news! How did you find it?"

"I can't find it."

"I meant the liberation of writing, how did you feel when-"

"Jehan. Listen to me. I wrote the poem on the back of a leaflet which I cannot for the life of me remember a single detail about. All the leaflets, all the posters, all those bloody loose sheets that were hanging around, are now gone from the shelf upstairs."

Jehan paused. "So you cannot find the poem?"

"I cannot find the poem."

"And the subject of the poem?"

This time it was Jehan that was met with a blank stare, which turned into a pained expression as Grantaire considered it. Of course. Of course he wrote a fucking pansy poem about his unrequited gay love for a man who hated him. Shit. Shit shit. Shit fuck shit fuck shit.

"In that case, Dearest Grantaire, it seems we have to find that poem."

**Author's Note:**

> I THINK I will write a little more of this, and have some actual e/r action. but I don't really know what im doing?? don't take my word for this!  
> also any constructive criticism would be nice, this is unbetad, and my first les mis fanfic.  
> thanks for reading I love you xoxo


End file.
